A Song of Ruin
by PrinceOfHell
Summary: Sam is plagued by the death of his beloved Jess, and by the fact he knew it was coming. Fortunately, the youngest Winchester has found relief from his pain. Pain.
1. A Song of Ruin

Title: A Song of Ruin  
Rating: NC-17 / MA  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. In truth, I don't really know who does. But definitely not a lowly fangirl like me.  
Warning: angst, m/m, really rough sex, but mostly the angst  
Pairing: Short Sam/OMC  
Word Count: 2056  
A/N: This is written in the first season. I didn't have it beta'd, but I did have someone listen to my creative process if that helps. Anyone wanna beta for me in the future? This is my first actually published fic. I never had the nerves to publish one before, so don't be too hard on me. Constructive criticism is encouraged. It was going to be longer, but I decided to stop it where I did just to see if it would do anything. If you want a sequel, just tell me and it's done!  
Spoilers: Bloody Mary and back

~!~

_"I thought you loved me."  
_  
Green eyes flared open, searching the ceiling for a loved one. Thoughts, remnants of the nightmare, raced through Sam's mind like a speeding train, eventually crashing into the back of his head. Sam's skin felt as if flames were licking against it. This problem wasn't solved, despite the sheets and bedspread kicked onto the floor. The pain was all in his head, but that didn't stop Sam from wincing as the flames burned him to the core.

As the hazy voice dissipated completely, Sam was able to hear the comforting sound of his brother snoring in the other bed. This noise brought Sam down from horrifying nightmares more than once in his life; proof that he wasn't in his Palo Alto house, watching Jess die on the ceiling above him. Just knowing that Dean was only a few feet away made the flames die down and the headache dull.

A chill ran through his body, reminding him his blankets were at the end of the bed and out of reach. Still on his back, a slight shivering going through his appendages, Sam reached toward the floor where he knew his jeans would be, along with his backpack.

His Levi's were cold against his already chilled skin as he slipped them on over his boxers. Sam's eyes drifted to the mound of body lying in the other bed, blocked by the shadow he cast with the light from the window. He frowned at the thought of continuously lying to his brother. But he didn't need to trouble Dean with his morbid dreams. He already had enough to worry about without adding Sam's guilt into the equation.

The night air was warm and humid against his bare chest when Sam opened the door to the room. The motel was a stereotypical Winchester abode somewhere outside of Stillwater, OK. The red neon from the vacancy sign was the only light in the parking lot, save for the one streetlight, which lit a foot outward at best. Sam moved away from his and Dean's room, not wanting to cast shadows through the window into the room.

Sam looked around the lot once more, searching for any signs of life (or death) before letting down his guard and reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes. He had smoked some during school when the stress of his exams would be too much, but had quit shortly before Dean came and found him and Jess had… _You can't even think it, you pussy._ Sam frowned and lit up the last of the pack with a flick of his Bic. The first drag was long and deep, soothing his nerves. The nicotine high chased off the last of his nightmare, but Sam made sure to take it slow anyway. Dean didn't know he had started up his habit again. Hell, Sam wasn't sure his brother knew he had started in the first place. But he wasn't planning on Dean finding out anytime soon, so these times in the middle of the night were the only times he had to sate his addiction.

After a few minutes of going through the therapeutic motions, Sam turned the cigarette around in his hand to flick the cherry off. Before he could get a good grip on the butt, the fag fell into his palm and proceeded to burn through the first few layers of skin.

"Fuck!" Sam yelled as he flipped the butt out of his hand. His curse echoed through the empty parking lot as he stared at the burning cigarette on the asphalt below him.

The pain in his hand ceased to dull, telling Sam it was a second-degree burn and it was going to hurt like a bitch for a few days. But… It was okay. Sam stared at the burning cigarette on the ground, an inkling of curiosity growing larger in his mind.

The pain was immediate as Sam placed his index finger on the burning cigarette.

"_I thought you loved me."_

A hiss escaped through his clenched teeth, but his finger didn't move off of the ashes until they were out and there was no more fire; no more pain except the dull throbbing of his now bleeding finger. The only thought crossing his mind was one of his lost love and how the very thing he touched killed her. Fire.

Tears streamed down Sam's face as he stood and stared at his hand, his whole body shaking.

"I'm so sorry, Jess."

Touching a burning cigarette was so small compared the burning Sam had witnessed that night. Nothing could compare to the agony she had gone through. He could never know. And the throbbing burn on his hand would never be punishment enough for what he did. He left her and he knew. Sam knew she would be dead when he returned. And he did nothing.

Sam reached for the dead ashes again when movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. The light in the room was on. Dean was up and probably wondering where the hell Sam was.

The door opened and Dean was framed in the dull light, looking into the parking lot. Sam quickly threw the empty pack of cigarettes away from him and pocketed his lighter, keeping his burnt hand in his pocket, relishing the pain the pressure caused him.

"What the fuck are you doing out here? You left your gun in the room." Dean's eyes searched over Sam's body, obviously checking to make sure he had all body parts attached.

Sam just looked past Dean into the shadows, smiling wistfully. He stepped forward, carefully hiding the smoke trail from the dead cigarette.

The door to the room looked so far away, and Dean so close. His gaze found his brother's eyes and winced at the worried look Dean sent back at him. Sam momentarily placed his aching hand on his brother's shoulder then began to walk.

"I just needed some air. S'alright."

Dean followed after him, eyes no longer worried, but hard. Those nightmares were killing Sam; he knew this. But – Dean turned and looked back at the asphalt – he never thought he would see his brother actually killing himself. Anger shot through him at the thought of Sam actually hiding something as stupid as smoking from him. But as soon as it came, the fury was gone, replaced with the constant worry.

The door slammed behind Dean as he stomped into the room. Sam turned to look at him, a blank, uncaring expression on his face.

"You do realize that I need you in top shape, right? If you're gonna save my ass, you can't be running around, out of breath. Or… Or drop dead of a heart attack. That's not how you're gonna go."

Dean wanted to shut the hell up so bad, but he knew something worse was wrong with Sam. And if this was the only way to open that, door so be it. It just sucked that he sounded like the nagging brother that Sam thought he was.

Sam sighed and flopped back onto the bed, kicking off his shoes with his feet.

"It's not a big deal, Dean. Don't yell."

Dean couldn't even see a spark of fight in the kid. Like he truly didn't care what Dean was saying; only entranced with the movie going on in his mind.

"Whatever. I'm just not going to get my ass killed because you can't fucking breathe." But it was so much more than that. "Sammy… What's wrong?"

Dean's tone softened and Sam could feel the bed dip by his feet. A hand rested on his shin, thumb playing back and forth on the seam of the pant leg.

"Nothing, Dean. Just a regular, run-of-the-mill nightmare." Sam cringed again at the lies he was spouting to his brother. Of course it was nothing.

"_I thought you loved me."_

Sam's eyes closed and he pulled his leg out from under Dean's hand, rolling onto his side. He reached his arm up and clicked the lamp off, blanketing the room in darkness.

After a few minutes, Sam could hear his brother sigh and stand. The pain in his hand had receded enough that he could uncurl his fingers.

In the dark, Dean would see nothing.

= = = 3 months later

A bandage and a lie covered the injury until it left nothing but a scar. The blood and pain was left behind in the hotel room with all of Sam's pride.

But the hand on his cock was all he thought of now. Gripping, squeezing. Light exploded in his head as the sensation crossed the line between pleasure and pain.

A whimper escaped through a panting mouth and a swift punch to the ribs followed. The man behind him breathed into his ear as he entered into Sam. The pain of no prep was almost too much for Sam, but he pushed himself back onto the stranger. The burning, searing pain shot through him, eliciting a cry from his lips.

Another blow to the side. If he wasn't peeing blood in the morning, he'd count himself lucky.

Sam struggled to hold onto the wall in front of him, but the orgasm crashed through him so fast, his grip slipped. A kick to the back of the leg gave him the strength to pull himself back up as the stranger pounded into him.

Sam was sitting in a booth, watching his brother flirt with a leggy blonde at the bar when _he_ had walked in. A look was exchanged between them, both knowing what was about to happen. Sam stood and passed by the man on his way toward the bathroom.

Thoughts raced back to the tiled wall in front of him and the sudden pain of a blade trailing down his shoulder. Sam shivered under the cold metal and the sharpness of the shallow cut. A warmth followed the cold as a tongue licked the same trail as the knife.

Sam had loosened up enough to start feeling the pleasure pooling at the base of his spine again. With one hard thrust and teeth sinking into Sam's shoulder, the stranger emptied himself into Sam and pulled out immediately.

Sam whined and placed his cheek against the cold tile. His cock was still hard, brushing against his stomach when he turned to see the man; pants pulled up and bathroom door opening.

This is what was meant to be. Anonymous. Painful. Suffering.

Sam made sure the hard cloth of his jeans brushed against his erection as he slipped back into his clothes. A breath hissed through his teeth at the sensitivity, but it's what he deserved.

"_I thought you lo-"_

The thought was cut from his mind as the bathroom door squeaked, signaling someone coming in. Under the stall door, Sam recognized Dean's boots and started panicking. His shoulder was still bleeding and other spots of blood needed to be tended to before he could face his brother.

"Sam?" Dean sounded a little more than drunk as he rustled around the bathroom. "Didja fall in?"

As tempting as the thought of crouching on the toilet so Dean couldn't see his boots was, it was childish and completely predictable, so Sam opened the door.

"What the fu… I'm gonna kill… Who did this?" Dean reached for Sam's arm. Obviously the blood has succeeded in seeping through the t-shirt Sam was wearing and Dean has seen.

"It's fine, Dean. I handled it." And he had. He felt so much better. The stress was gone for now. He had gotten his rocks off and sated his guilt.

The pain from the death of Jess (and the fact it was his fault) still haunted him. The nightmares no longer invaded his mind when he slept, but Sam had a feeling it was because of what he did when no one was looking. The submission and the beatings. They helped. Helped him feel like he was serving the sentence he deserved.

"_You do love me."_

A small smile graced Sam's lips as he walked toward the bathroom door.

"Let's just go, Dean."

A/N: See? It wasn't as sexy as you thought it would be. Like I said before, if you want a sequel or something, tell me and I'll write one. And I'll take longer to do it so I can find a beta and maybe make the next one a little better.

I'm finally glad I finally grew the pair I needed to post this. So don't be too mean. Comments are appreciated though. I won't be mad! ^^ I like constructive criticism.

Thanks for reading!


	2. It's Been My Pleasure

Title: It's Been My Pleasure

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. In truth, I don't really know who does. But definitely not a lowly fangirl like me.

Warning: angst, more angst, and maybe a little ooey-gooey chick flick moments, and angst. Language.

Pairing: None… Wincest if you want to see it.

Word Count: 3703

A/N: This is the sequel to my fic A Song of Ruin. It's based around a year after it. I would highly suggest you read that one first. It'll be on my page. Again, I tried to write well, but it might not have turned out that detailed. I kinda wrote this one fast. Don't hate me! If you like it, comment. I always love it when people comment!

Spoilers: Somewhere in the middle of season 2. We'll just say everything up to All Hell Breaks Loose 1 & 2.

Sam's limp body leaned heavily against Dean as he tried to hold his brother up and open the back door of the Impala at the same time. The awkward weight against his shoulder made his cracked ribs throb in time with his pulse, but Dean ignored the pain and worked double-time to keep Sammy alive.

After Sam was carefully sprawled in the backseat, Dean took his position behind the wheel and drove away from the cabin as fast as he could.

"That goddamn werewolf. Fuck it!" Dean glanced into the rearview mirror for what seemed like the fiftieth time in one minute. Sam was so still. "Come on, Sammy."

A week ago, Sam had found signs of a werewolf in Chilicoth, IL. The brothers jumped in the car to go as soon as their breakfast was down.

After holing up in a hotel room, Sam started his homework, only leaving the room to take smoke breaks (which Dean adamantly hated). Sooner rather than later, the two of them were outside a cabin in the middle of nowhere, keeping their eyes peeled for movement.

Out of the blue the thing jumps out from behind the house and pounces on Dean.

Sam was on it in a flash. No gun, no blade, just Sam.

A flash of anger coursed through Dean. What the _fuck_ had Sam been thinking? There were perfectly good weapons at his fingertips, and he _jumps_ the thing?

That kid had a death wish…

Now Sam was laying in the backseat, getting the Impala's upholstery all nice and bloody for Dean.

The motel was only a few miles away from the cabin, and thank God for it. Dean looked back at Sam again to find him in the same position. _Fuck._

Getting his brother out of the car was way more difficult than putting him in. His limp limbs were even ganglier than they normally were, and Sam being a few inches taller didn't help one bit.

Dean needed Sam to help him out.

But he mostly just wanted him to wake up.

Maneuvering through the room had been easier than expected. Sam's descent onto the bed was slowed by Dean's hands on his shoulders and locked legs. Even when Dean got Sam onto the bed and called his name and shook him… Nothing.

His eyes were wide as he backed himself into a chair in the corner of the room.

"C'mon, Sammy. Pull through."

A moan sounded from the other side of the room and Dean was bounding over to the bed in milliseconds.

"Sammy. Sammy. You okay? You good?" Dean sat on the edge of the bed and watched Sam's face as it scrunched with pain.

It was obvious Sam wasn't going to hang around long enough for Dean to know the extent of his injuries. The only bad one he could see was a row of deep, still-bleeding gashes on his side where the werewolf had reached around and hit him with his claws.

Sam winced and locked his hand around Dean's arm. His green eyes weren't showing, but he could feel every nerve in his body screaming with pain.

Dean placed his own hand over his brother's and squelched down his emotions. He had to help Sam.

He reached down to Sam's feet and started untangling the muddy laces. A shower. That would wake Sam up enough to stay alive and maybe get all that dirt from underneath the wound.

Shoes and socks off, Dean went up top and first slit the blood-stained jacket off of Sam's shoulders, then went for the buttons on his shirt.

Dean frowned when he got to the second button. Sam had too many scars from too many fights. Maybe Dean should have left in Palo Alto. Then he wouldn't have to see his baby brother beat to shit like this.

A third button came loose over Sam's chest and green eyes were suddenly staring up at Dean, fear flowing through them.

A hand shot up and Dean found himself falling off of the bed. He caught himself before he hit the floor, but almost fell over again when he saw Sam trying to sit up.

"Woah, woah! Hold your horses there, Sammy. Wouldn't want your guts all over the floor, would we?" Dean reached forward to push Sam back down, but his hand was immediately slapped back.

"What the fuck, Sam? I'm trying to help."

Sam tried to sit up again and Dean stayed back, pissed enough that he wasn't going to try and help him.

Pain flashed across his brother's face and Dean reached his arm forward, anger vanishing fast.

"Come on, Sammy. Just let me help you. You're hurt bad."

Something passed behind Sam's eyes. Fear? Anger? Whatever it was, it shouldn't have been there.

"Just… Fuck off. For, like, five minutes. Just let me do this." Pleading green eyes stared back at Dean and all he could do was shake his head and walk away.

That kid definitely had a death wish.

The light in the bathroom seemed too bright as Dean locked the door behind him. If Sam wanted to be a stubborn asshole, then so be it. It gave Dean a chance to check out his own wounds anyway.

Ever since the werewolf had landed on his chest, he knew that something wasn't right with his ribs. Every time he took too deep a breath or twisted the wrong way, a burning pain shot up his side and hit him straight in the heart.

Upon revealing the injury, Dean could see a bruise already formed. It was nasty and black. They weren't broken, though. He knew what broken ribs felt like, and this was not it.

A loud _thunk_ came from the other room and Dean almost broke down the door trying to get out of the locked bathroom.

Sam was lying on the floor in between the two beds, eyes closed. Dean scrambled to reach his brother and assess the situation.

Sam's chest was bare and the wound was clearly meant to be a killing blow, but damn him if Dean was going to let Sam die.

Instead of trying to hitch his brother onto the bed again, he just grabbed a pillow from the bed and carefully slid it under Sam's head. Dean re-arranged Sam's arms and legs to make more room for him to sew up the gaping, bleeding wound.

The first aid kit was in Dean's duffel which was, thank God, within arm's reach. Dean got to work threading and closing up the four slices on Sam's side. A large gauze pad got taped over the finished results and Dean sat back against the bed, wincing when his ribs hit just the right spot on the frame.

Now all Dean had to do was drag the big lug into the bed and let him sleep it off. That was the hard part. It was one thing to get a passenger out of the backseat of a car, but off of the floor? Dean prayed his balance (and his ribs) would hold out.

Dean straddled his younger brother and wrapped his hands around Sam's biceps, pulling up. When he got Sam into a sitting position, Dean wrapped his arms around him and pulled him forward into him.

There was something on Sam's back. Mud or dried blood, maybe. Dean ignored it and grounded himself before pulling Sam up and onto the bed.

Both men made an _oomph_ noise as Sam hit the bed.

Dean turned and fell face-first onto his bed. Sam was breathing and patched up. He was fine, until the next time he made a dick move like attacking a werewolf without a knife.

Dean situated himself on the bed and drifted toward sleep almost instantly; one ear open just in case Sam decided to wake up.

= = = Next day

Dean awoke to a dip at the bottom of his bed.

"Sammy?"

His voice was groggy with sleep and he couldn't seem to get his eyes open. It had to be Sam, though.

"Yeah, Dean. Go back to sleep. I'm just going to take a shower."

Dean's eyes opened and he pulled the covers off of him. Sam's hand was pushing into the bed, obviously for support. His face showed no pain, but he was obviously hurting by the way he stood.

"Lemme help." Dean sat up and went to stand.

"No, I'm fine. I'm a big boy." A quiet laugh escaped through Sam's lips.

"Don't be a retard." Dean stood and grabbed Sam's placed his hand on his brother's back.

Sam flinched and shrugged Dean off his back.

"What the…" That's when Dean noticed it.

Scars, old and new, were scattered across Sam's back. And there was _no_ way that they were all from hunting. Unless a poltergeist took the time to light up a smoke then put it out on Sam's back. Long, thin scars crisscrossed over shoulders and lower back. Yellow and purple bruises blossomed on Sam's sides and back. Some of the wounds couldn't be more than a week old. A fat burn mark dribbled down his right side. The only thing that could do something like was a… a fucking _lighter_.

Sam whimpered and started toward the bathroom when Dean reached forward, speechless.

The door slammed and Dean could hear the lock engage; a gunshot in the silence.

A ringing began in his ears and his vision blurred as he fumbled around, looking for a place to fall.

His back of his knees collided with Sam's bed and he sat down on the bedspread.

What the fuck?

Outside of his thoughts, Dean could hear the shower turn on and banging which could possibly be Sammy throwing shit around the bathroom.

What the fucking _hell_?

Dean pressed his fingers into his thighs, trying to clear his head. This was why Sam had been so withdrawn. Obviously he was hurting himself, like some fucking emo kid. But he wouldn't have been able to hold a lighter to his skin from that angle. Someone was helping.

Dean's fingers dug harder into his thighs, suppressing the urge to kick down the bathroom door and ask Sam who was hurting him so he could kill his ass.

Deep down, though, Dean knew the truth. Sam wanted it. Why else would he throw himself into fights barehanded?

_That kid had a death wish._

He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the water in the bathroom to stop running.

Tears flowed down his face as Sam stood in the shower. He was caught. Dean was probably in the room, prepping to kick Sam's ass down the street and back.

He deserved it, though. It had been more than a year since Jess died, and he was pretty much over it. But he couldn't stop. When he was facedown on some stranger's carpet, or pushed against some grimy bathroom wall, it _all_ went away. Everything. The demon blood, Jess's memories, his own failures.

Until he went back to Dean and the job.

God, Dean.

Sam shut the water off and stepped out of the bathtub. Grabbing a towel, he stared at the doorknob, expecting it to wiggle and shake. Strangely, nothing happened. This fact just scared Sam even more.

Maybe he didn't say anything.

Pff, yeah. Sam had turned and seen Dean's face before locking himself in the bathroom. His brother had definitely seen it all.

Fresh tears started falling down Sam's cheeks. He stumbled over to the door and turned his back to it.

There was _no_ way he was walking out there. Especially when he didn't have any clothes on. Fuck.

He slid his back down the wooden door and winced a bit at the pain still biting into his side. Dean had done a good job stitching that up. Sam knew he had been in bad shape, but it didn't really hurt much now.

Probably the adrenaline-causing fear coursing through his vein.

Sam crossed his arms over his knees and put his head down, waiting for the motel room door to open, telling him Dean had given up and left.

It had been too long. Sam had been in that bathroom with the water off for too long.

Dean was panicking. What if something was wrong? What if his wound had popped a few stitches and he was bleeding out?

He stood and walked toward the door, ready to bang on it for Sam to open up, but stopped, knuckles in air.

What if Sam was… Dean couldn't even think about it. Sam wouldn't. Not with Dean right there.

How many times had Sam been doing something when Dean was only a door away? When the hell had this even started. Dean guessed it was all started with Jess. It would make sense.

Dean shook his head, angry again, and hit the door with his knuckles.

Nothing.

Panic and fear slid through him. His hands grabbed the doorknob and shook it, but it was locked.

"Sam! Open the fucking door." Dean couldn't hear anything but dead silence. As he started to back up to kick the door in, he heard the soft click of the knob unlocking.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips, despite his anger. He quickly tried the knob again and found he could only open it a couple of inches. Something – someone – was up against the door.

"I'm not coming out yet." As if that explained everything. "Can you just…" A cracked sigh. "… Leave me alone for a few?"

Dean's anger resurfaced, flooding through him faster than a speeding train.

"Of course I can't leave you alone? You think I'm gonna leave you alone after seeing _that_? Sammy, c'mon." Dean's voice cracked at the end. What was he going to do?

The door suddenly opened to Sam standing there with a towel around his hips.

"Then will you get me some clothes?"

The request was so random Dean had to stop. He just stared, not comprehending his little brother's words.

"Clothes. Right."

Dean turned toward Sam's duffel, ears beginning to ring again. As he dug through the duffel bag, pulling out a shirt and jeans, he saw Sam out of the corner of his eyes. His brother was obviously ready to lock himself back into the bathroom and never come out, so Dean hurried and threw the clothes at Sam.

Sam caught everything and immediately pulled on his shirt, before turning his back to Dean and dropping the towel to put on his pants.

Dean watched Sam's movement and thought about his wound from last night. It had looked good when Sam opened the door, so Dean forgot about it and started to panic over their approaching conversation.

Sam never even glanced at Dean as he took a seat on the bed across from his brother.

"I guess you wan-"

"Shut up, Sam. Just… shut the fuck up and let me think."

Sam ducked his head and leaned back, farther away from Dean.

Eyes boring into Sam's skull, Dean opened his mouth, trying to get what he wanted out.

"Wha-? I don- I jus-"

Obviously it wasn't working.

Dean turned and looked to the stained carpet.

"I have absolutely… no fucking clue what to say, Sam. I don't even know… Wha-? Why, Sam?"

The only answer Dean got was silence. He picked his head up and looked toward his brother.

"Sammy?"

Blue eyes were staring into Dean's. Emotion raced through them. Fear, anger, sadness. They finally chose one and a tear slid down Sam's cheek.

"I'm sorry, Dean." His voice was quiet; almost a whisper.

Rage flowed through Dean's veins. He stood and clenched his fists to keep from pounding his brother in the face. But he would probably like it. _Damn_ it!

Dean had to turn away from Sam's eyes; his sad, pleading eyes. The eyes that always broke Dean down and made him do whatever Sam wanted.

"You're _sorry_? Sorry? Damn it, Sam."

He turned and looked at his brother again. He looked scared; really and truly scared. Like Dean was going to kick him to the curb or kill him.

The former was definitely a thought going through his mind at the moment.

"Sorry for lying to me about how you were 'fine' after Jess died? Sorry for not asking me for help? Sorry for making me sit here thinking you were fucking slitting your wrists in the bathroom while I waited? I can't think of _anything_ you need to be sorry for, Sam. Jesus!"

Another tear fell.

"Just... I… Sorry."

Dean stopped and turned toward his brother and inhaled for another rant.

Sam shrunk back and hid his eyes from his brother.

Silence. Nothing.

Sam felt the bed dip down next to him and flinched when a hand showed in front of him.

A throaty half-sob came from Dean's throat as he took his hand back.

"Please, Sammy. Don't do that. I just… God, I don't want you to leave me."

Sam carefully looked toward Dean and saw a few tear tracks flowing from his eyes.

The brothers just stared at each other for what seemed like eternity until Dean made a move. His arms wrapped around Sam, one going under the back of his shirt, tracing his scars.

"Why, Sammy? Why do you…" Dean let out a laugh-sob and caressed the fat burn mark with his thumb. "Why?"

Sam sat still and flinched at the touch of his brother. Tears were flowing down his face faster now. Like there were so many he had kept holed up so long and now they had a way out.

"I…" Another sob. "Jess… And then Dad… So much _shit_, Dean. It's so much, Dean."

Dean's arms loosened around Sam as he talked. Dean toughened up and put on his big brother mask. He let go of Sam completely and pulled his hand away from his damaged back. Wiping his face, he picked Sam's chin up and turned his brother to face him.

"Sam. You gotta listen to me. Hear me out."

Sam wiped his face with his sleeve and nodded, abruptly serious.

"Please… I don't know why or when or how the hell you've been doing this, but Sam…" Dean's voice hitched as he said his brother's name. "Sammy, please… Don't. I need you here with me."

Sam chuckled under his breath then stopped and looked at Dean.

"I'm not suicidal, Dean. I mean, I was at a time, but that hasn't even crossed my mind in over a year. I'm not going anywhere."

Dean let go of Sam's chin and sighed.

"Then why the fuck do you do _that_?" Dean gestured toward Sam's back and looked puzzled.

It was Sam's turn to sigh as he thought of how to explain it to his brother.

"It was a way to get away from things. It helped me forget. I… I liked it. It was an escape. Now… Now, it's just… Dean, I don't know how to explain it. I'm over Jess and everything, but there's always something shitty happening to me; to us."

Dean reached forward, wanting to touch Sam again, but put his hand back on his own knee.

"Sam… I know that Jess's death was hard. And Dad's hurt us both. But you can't go running around with strangers, trusting them not to slit your throat in a gas station bathroom."

Sam cringed at his brother's words, knowing they were all completely true. He had no clue who the men and women he had had sex with were. And every time it happened, Sam let up his guard and surrendered fully to whoever was with him, giving them access too his life.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

A quiet whimper came from Dean's throat and Sam turned toward him.

His brother looked from Sam's eyes to the back of him; back and forth. He reached forward and placed shaking fingers on the bottom of his t-shirt. Sam felt cool air across his lower back as Dean lifted the shirt and just stared.

"Dean…" Sam wanted so much to grab Dean's hand and pull him away, but he knew that wouldn't go over well.

A warm finger traced over a scar on his lower back, then followed the tracks up to Sam's shoulderblades.

Dean finally pulled his hand away and then turned away from Sam.

"Sammy. Please… Don't. Will you stop? I don't want to lose you… Ever."

Blue eyes met green as Dean looked back at his brother, close to more tears. He just knew that Sam was going to get mad and storm out of here, leaving him alone. And then go out and get killed. Dean knew it.

Sam's brow furrowed and then a corner of his mouth lifted, just a touch.

"For you, Dean."

A/N: Okay… Well, then. I know it was kinda mushy and not at all Winchester-y, but I felt like we needed some angsty smush-ness… There will be a third one in this series. That might be the last one. We'll see what comes to me later.

Thanks for reading!


	3. Quitting Day

Title: Quitting Day  
Rating: NC-17  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. In truth, I don't really know who does. But definitely not a lowly fan girl like me.  
Warning: Kink, and lots of it. If you don't like blood and pain mixed in with your sex, I suggest you stay away.  
Pairing: Sam/Dean  
Word Count: 3788  
A/N: Next in series after It's Been My Pleasure. Last in series.  
Spoilers: The Magnificent Seven

The lifeless body sat, tied to the chair in the middle of the warehouse. There was no use in even trying to revive the girl. She had a deep knife wound to her side and blood trickled from her mouth onto the dirty floor.

Dean squatted down and started to untie the rope.

"C'mon, Sam. Give me a break. I'm not Superman."

Sam was standing further away from the girl, reluctant to step forward. It had known. It had known everything and had no qualms about opening its mouth and sharing with the whole world.

Of course, Dean was pretending like he hadn't heard anything. Like he hadn't heard the demon talk about Sam and his "pastimes." Like he couldn't hear the demon taunting him about Hell and his approaching trip.

Sam shook himself from his thoughts and saw that Dean was staring holes through him.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry."

Sam started at the other wrist, and eventually the boys got the girl out of the chair, out the door, and into a hole in the ground. No one would find her.

The walk back to the Impala was silent, the only noise the crunching of the dead leaves beneath boots. Until…

"Damn, Sammy. I can hear your gears grinding all the way over here." Dean looked over at his little brother, smirking.

Despite all that had happened in the last year, Dean's acting skills never faulted. It was almost like the hotel room and the scars never happened.

And Sam was perfectly fine with that. It was awkward enough the first few days; he didn't want to deal with that all the time.

Sam reached the passenger side door without a word, while Dean walked around to the other side.

"Fine, then." Dean shook his head and slid onto the bench seat, stroking the dashboard out of habit.

He was right, though. Sam's brain was going a mile a minute. The eminence of Dean's approaching death (it was only a few months now), and how it was virtually Sam's fault that his brother was going to Hell – It all bore down on him so hard.

"Let's just go back to the room, Dean." Sam leaned his head against the window and watched his breath fog up the glass as Dean drove them back to the motel.

He could feel his brother watching him brood. And it definitely was _not_ helping the situation.

"Don't be getting all emo on me now, Sammy. I've only got a few months left and I'm not spending them with you all teary-eyed and emotional."

A sharp laugh erupted from Sam's mouth.

"Nice, Dean. Way to go." Sam shook his head, sarcasm dripping from his mouth as he stared at his brother across the car. He turned back to the dark outside the window.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the motel's orange neon sign was in sight. Dean parked the car and turned the car off. He looked over at Sam, who was just sitting there, staring out the window, fogging up the window.

Dean rolled his eyes and got out of the Impala, grabbing his bag, and heading inside. Sam would follow eventually.

Sam watched as his brother coolly walked into the room, not even glancing his way. He had learned to expect that, though. Ever since Dean sold his soul for Sam and they had that fight… or whatever it was, Dean didn't really share much anymore.

"_You were dead, Sammy. What the fuck was I supposed to do?"_

"_Leave me that way maybe? How could you even think that was okay to do?"_

"_Because it's _you_, Sam. Because of you." Dean's voice cracked. He sat in the chair by the desk and put his head in his hands._

_Sam's wide eyes just stared at him. He shook his head and turned, trying to find his jacket._

"_What are you doing?" Dean was looking at Sam now, eyes wondering._

"_Out. I'm going out." Sam looked at Dean when he said this. Maybe he would get the point._

_Dean just continued staring at him with a blank look, then light flickered behind his eyes. He stood and almost jumped on Sam, but held himself back to a slow walk before he took action._

"_No… You're not. You promised. You fucking _promised_, Sam." _

_Sam shrugged and walked toward the door when a strong hand gripped his arm. He turned and knocked the arm away and glared at its owner._

"_I'm leaving, Dean. I'll be back tomorrow." Sam placed his hand on the doorknob and turned. _'Finally,'_ he thought. _'I can do this.'_ It had been too long and Sam could feel it in his bones._

_His shoe made a loud _thunk_ on the concrete outside the door, then the hand was on his arm again, this time turning his around completely. _

"_Sammy, please. Not with someone you don't know. They could hurt you. I just got you back. Please." Dean's eyes were pleading along with his voice. _

_Sam couldn't feel anything. There was no pain, sadness, pity; nothing. _

_His smile wasn't happy as he glared at Dean._

"_You offering, bro?" _

_Dean dropped his hand from Sam's arm and recoiled, face disgusted. _

_A mean chuckle escaped from Sam's mouth as he walked the rest of the way out the door and to sidewalk._

Yeah. Sam could see where Dean wouldn't want to talk to him. That had only been a few days ago, and Sam could still feel the bruises on his neck from greedy, uncaring hands.

Sam fumbled out of the car, realizing that he was exhausted from the days of hunting that stupid demon. He grabbed the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one up. Even though the motel rooms allowed smoking, he knew Dean hated it. And even though he wasn't that fond of Dean at the moment, he still didn't want to piss him off.

The rasp of the lighter was loud in the almost empty parking lot. Sam took a drag from the Pall Mall and held it in as long as he could. After only a few seconds, he exhaled, blowing smoke into the night air.

A door opened to his left, but he ignored it and kept up his habit; inhale, hold, exhale.

A hand appeared from nowhere and grabbed the cigarette from his hand, turning it around and thrusting it into the back of his hand.

"Fuck! What the he-?" Sam's head whipped around to see Dean standing there with the lit cigarette between his thumb and forefinger.

Dean was breathing heavily, hardly believing that he was out here doing this.

"_You offering, bro?"_

If it kept Sam away from murderous freaks, yeah, he was. He kept trying to tell himself that that was the reason, but there was something in the back of his mind that told him he was wrong. The hard length at his hips told him he was probably wrong, too.

That realization almost made Dean back away and run, but the moan coming from Sam's open, panting mouth made him think twice about splitting.

Wow. So his little brother really did like this kind of kinky shit.

Dean had no clue how Sam could stand the feel of a cigarette being put out on his skin. From the few times Dean had ever been burned, he knew it wasn't pleasant. But everyone's got their own drum, and Sam's just beat way off the path of normal.

"Dean… Please."

Sam's voice cut off his concentration. The deep, throaty moans following his plea went straight to Dean's dick. Which was _not_ normal. This was just supposed to be for Sam. Dean wasn't supposed to like it. Fuck!

Dean tossed the cigarette onto the asphalt and grabbed Sam by the arm, pulling him into the motel room.

"Don't want to wake the neighbors, Sam."

He could see his brother's face better in the light. It was slack and looked totally fucked out. And Dean hadn't even done anything yet. Jesus…

A fast glance over Sam let Dean see that his hand was bleeding and that its owner sure didn't mind. That look was still plastered over Sammy's face.

It vanished when Dean tossed him into the wall next to them. Sam made an _oomph_ noise, his eyes widening in fear.

But that was part of the game, right? Sam completely trusted Dean; with everything. But he also knew what his brother was capable of, and what if things turned bad? _That_ was the thrill.

Sam whimpered when Dean drew closer and shoved a knee between his legs. He could feel that Dean wasn't exactly unhappy to be in his current position.

"Dean. Oh… God. You don't have to… Please." Sam couldn't get his words out fast enough. He knew his brother probably did not want to have to do this. He was going to wake up tomorrow morning and bolt. As much as Sam wanted this, he had no desire to see Dean walk out that door.

He stopped worrying about it when Dean grabbed his crotch with his left hand and his jaw with his right. The pain and pleasure mixed together and Sam forgot everything around him but Dean.

"Of course I have to, Sammy. Wouldn't want you hanging around the wrong people." Dean's grip tightened and Sam moaned, sending vibrations up Dean's arm. He tried to hold in a moan, himself.

"Dean, please." Sam closed his eyes and whined, trying to hold onto Dean's shoulders.

Dean smirked and grabbed Sam's shirt. Sam found himself being thrown onto the bed, face first. A heavy weight laid itself across his back and it smelled like Dean's aftershave. Sam moaned again, but was cut off with a fist to his ribs.

"Don't try and touch me, Sam. I swear to God, if you do…"

Sam could feel Dean's breath on his ear, followed by teeth grinding onto his earlobe.

A throaty growl leaked out of Sam's throat as he nodded.

"Good, Sammy."

The warm body was gone and Sam looked, searching for his brother. His eyes found Dean digging through his duffel bag on the other bed. He was pulling something out of it, but Sam couldn't really see what it was. An impatient whine aimed at Dean sounded out of Sam's mouth.

Dean turned toward his brother, hand behind his back. His eyes found Sam's and he almost came in jeans.

God, Sam was so into this. He was just waiting there for Dean to cut him up and fuck him. And Dean wanted to do it. As much as it hurt him to admit it, this was doing it for him; completely and without mercy.

Another not-so-kind smirk flashed over Dean's face.

"Close your eyes, Sammy."

A rush of fear shot through Sam's veins, but he closed his eyes and yearned for Dean touch him again.

Sam had never though that Dean would follow through. Since the night of the fight, Sam had been thinking of the possibilities. What if Dean topped him, and hurt him? Thinking about it made him rock hard in seconds. But he never thought that Dean would actually do it.

But here they were. Sam on his stomach, and Dean coming to him with the sole purpose of making him bleed.

Dean walked toward his brother and lifted a leg, straddling his oh-so-tempting ass.

Sam heard a fast slicing sound and then cold air was breezing across his back.

Holy shit. Dean had a knife. Sam almost shot in his pants, right then. But he wanted to hold out for his brother, who was obviously having a good time, too. If the hardness pressing into Sam's ass had anything to say about it.

Warm lips and tongue made their way up Sam's back; teeth nipping at scars every time they crossed a rough line.

Sam was visibly shaking and Dean had a moment to feel bad, but that went away when he threaded his fingers through his brother's hair and jerked up.

Sam groaned into the air. He felt Dean's grip loosen and teeth at his throat. But there was something else at his throat. It was cold and sharp. His brain was going so slow with pleasure.

He soon realized what it was when a sharpness bit into his skin. Just a small nick, but it was enough.

"Dean. God…please. Fuck… Fuckfuckfuck… _Dean_."

The teeth were gone from his throat and the knife was somewhere out of sight. Dean hand wasn't in his hair anymore. Then Sam felt where they had traveled.

Dean was fumbling with the button on his jeans. It just wouldn't cooperate with his shaking fingers. God, Dean needed it so bad. And Sam was just laying there, ready to let him do whatever to him.

Dean finally let the moan he had been holding in, out.

"Pants off… Now." Dean slapped a hand across Sam's ass before he went back to freeing his dick from its prison.

Sam lifted his hips up, pushing his ass into Dean's crotch. He cried out as he reached down, fumbling with his own button and zipper. Finally, he got them undone, but he couldn't push the jeans over his hips.

"_Dean…_ Fuck. Help…"

Dean laughed; a sultry, slow laugh.

"Poor Sammy. Wants to get fucked so bad and he can't even get his pants off."

Sam whined and tried once more to push his pants over his hips and erection. It wasn't working. But he didn't have to worry because Dean was jerking the fabric down to bare his ass to the air.

And to the bare skin of Dean. His brother's cock lay across his ass.

"Jesus, Dean. Please, fuck me." His voice was smothered by the pillow in his face, but he knew Dean had heard him from the way he twitched above him.

"Fuck. Sam, okay. Hold on." Dean leaned forward and opened the drawer of the nightstand.

Sam watched his brother's hand pull out a bottle of lube from the drawer. Before thinking, he reached forward and grabbed Dean's hand.

"No." Apparently Dean had forgotten his "no touchy" rule because he just stayed there. His hand in Sam's grip and the echo of his brother's one word.

Dean just stared at the back of Sam's head with wide eyes. He wrenched his wrist from Sam's grip and growled.

"What do you mean, no? You want me to fuck you, don't you?" He popped the cap open on the bottle and opened his hand.

Sam turned his head to look at Dean as best he could.

"No. Don't use… Fuck." He really didn't want to explain to Dean that he didn't want him to use lube; that he wanted Dean to hurt him. "Put that away. I don't want you to use it."

Silence. Not even breath. Sam had almost given up when he heard a cracking inhale.

"Sammy… I can't do that. That's… That's so wrong. I don't want to hurt you." Dean couldn't believe how broken his brother was. How could anyone want to get cut up and burned and hurt like this?

Was Dean… _almost_ crying? What the fuck? Sam just turned his neck more to see Dean's broken expression.

"Fuck, Dean. _Do it!_ Don't you get it? I _like_ it. Just do it!"

Dean didn't move. He just sat there, debating in his head. On one hand, he was horny as hell and this was really turning him on. But he just didn't want to think about the shit going on right now; how much of a failure he was in the big brother department.

Sam let out a sigh and started wiggling around to get out from under Dean. He knew it was over. Dean had started thinking and he finally realized what he was doing.

Sam ended up on his back, staring up at Dean, who had emptied his hands of everything and was holding Sam's wrists down on the bed.

"You're not fucking going anywhere. I'm not done yet." The dark glimmer in Dean's eyes made Sam clench his fists and moan. He could feel his brother's erection pulsing against his own.

Dean lifted one hand off of Sam's wrists and traveled down Sam's body, tweaking a nipple on its way.

Sam's eyes shot open in ecstasy as he felt two fingers push at his opening. He relaxed for two seconds and then immediately tensed as the digits pushed in and explored Sam, opening him as much as they could.

Sam cried out and grabbed his dick with his now-free hand. He squeezed the base, trying to hold back on the orgasm that pooling at the base of his spine.

Dean's fingers were gone and gripping onto Sam's wrist once more.

"Don't touch yourself." Dean closed his eyes and inhaled slow and deep. "My job."

He skimmed his hand down Sam's chest again, throwing Sam's leg over his shoulder before placing his hand on his own cock. He led it to his brother's opening; so tight. He inhaled, really wishing that Sam was right and he was going to like this. If he hurt Sam for real, he didn't even know what the fuck he would do to himself.

"Okay, Sammy. Fuck…" He pushed into Sam, who threw his head back and fucking _howled_. Dean pulled back, but not out, and watched his brother's face. Pain was _nowhere_ in his expression. It was all pleasure.

And that drove Dean to the edge.

He pushed into Sam's tight ass, holding Sam's wrists hard enough to bruise. He vaguely remembered a burn on Sam's hand that was probably stinging like a bitch, but the thought was quickly forgotten as he found as much a rhythm he was going to get.

So _tight_. It felt amazing.

Sam had his eyes shut and was chewing on his bottom lip, whimpering. Dean could feel him trying to push against his restricting hands. Despite the pleasure coursing through his body making him weak, Dean kept his hold on Sam.

Sam cried out one last time before he came all over his own chest. He stopped resisting against Dean's grip and just lay there, panting. Dean was still pumping into him, but he could feel that he was close.

Dean lost it as Sam pushed his hips up to meet Dean's thrusts. He fell over on Sam, still thrusting into him as his orgasm slowed. His hands slid down Sam's arms as he tried to find support to roll of his brother.

Dean's eyes shot open and he tensed as Sam's free arms wrapped around him in a soothing hug.

"Dean…"

Dean shot off of Sam and stood next to the bed, staring at his brother.

"Fuck… Umm…" Dean was freaking. Had he really just fucked his brother? And fucking burned him with a cigarette? He looked over Sam, trying to take in everything. When he saw the blood soaking into the sheets at Sam's neck and ass, he broke.

Sam sat up and tried to call to Dean as he ran into the bathroom. Fuck. He knew this was going to happen. Dean was freaking out and he was going to leave Sam alone.

Holding back tears, Sam stood and walked to the bathroom. He hurt like a sonofabitch, but he was proud of it. He secretly hoped it wouldn't stop hurting. Especially since it was Dean. But he knew that in a few days, the evidence that this had ever happened would be gone and so would Dean.

Sam knocked softly on the bathroom door, unsure if his brother could hear him. He had turned on the shower, but Sam wasn't so sure that Dean was actually showering.

Dean wasn't. He was sitting on the toilet lid, head in his hands. He heard the knock and tried his hardest not to yell at it.

"What?" Dean managed a loud bark instead of the yell that would surely set him off, trashing shit around the room.

"Dean." Of course. Sam wanted to come in and fucking show Dean what he had done to him. How he had hurt him. "Can I come in?"

Dean stifled a sob and stood up. He threw open the door and glared at his naked brother, standing there with fucking _pity_ all over his face.

"Everything's fine, Dean." Sam stepped forward and Dean cringed against his touch. He back toward the shower, staring holes into Sam.

He straightened up and clenched his fists at his side.

"How the fuck is everything fine? I _hurt _you, Sammy." He dropped his gaze to the crappy tile on the floor and tried to stop his body from shaking.

Arms were around Dean. He tensed, but then just fell into them.

"Dean. I swear it's okay. You didn't hurt me, alright? Everything really is fine." Sam could still feel Dean's body shaking with sobs. "Let's get a shower, 'kay?"

Dean was silent, except for the quiet sobs still coming from his mouth. Sam opened the shower curtain and led his brother under the spray.

Sam cleaned himself up, and then Dean. By the end of the shower, Dean just stared at him with empty eyes.

Dean walked into the bedroom and sighed when he saw that Sam had covered his bed with a comforter. He didn't have to look at it, didn't have to remember the blood.

He shivered and just turned to his own bed. It looked so warm and safe. Sam was still at his back, leading him from spot to spot. Maybe it really was okay. Sam didn't seem hurt. He seemed… happy. Dean tried to analyze Sam's expression. He hadn't seen a smile like that on his face since Dean found out what Sam was doing. It was nice to see. Dean's lips lifted a bit, causing Sam's smile to widen.

He felt a hand at his back, pushing him onto the bed. Dean was suddenly exhausted. He gratefully climbed under the clean sheets and closed his eyes. He wasn't shocked when Sam's warm body slid in behind him, spooning him.

Dean reached his arm behind him and laid a hand on Sam's hip.

"I didn't hurt you, right? You're telling me the truth? I don't wan-" He was interrupted by Sam's hand on his, and his brother's lips at his ear, whispering.

"No, Dean. I'm fine. Just go to sleep and stop thinking so hard." Sam started tracing circles on the back of Dean's hand. "That's my job."

Dean sighed, still a little worried, but he knew that Sam was right. He was thinking too much. He could freak out some more in the morning.

Dean had a feeling he wouldn't be, though.

A/N: End of the series. Thanks for those who are reading.


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